Winter Wonderland
by artemisgirl
Summary: A series of loosely connected oneshots set at Wammy's House, updated daily for the week before Christmas. Expect fluff and humor here! And Merry Christmas! MN, MM, LMN and whatever else I end up writing. Love you all!
1. Seeing Santa

A/N: Merry Christmas! And other such holidays as well! As all my writer-friends are the best gifts anyone could have, I am doing a week-before-Christmas thing to get everyone in the mood for Christmas with a series of loosely connected oneshots set at Wammy's house. I hope you enjoy them! And if you do, please review!

This story is for **Akane.**

**Seeing Santa**

"So you see, it's more of a tale of psychological evolution and self-realization and identity than mindless gore. Not that there's not gore, of course, but it all has a _point_, you know, not just so you can see blood and guts flying-"

Sighing, enduring his 2nd hour of being dressed as Santa Claus and listening to children tell him what they wanted for Christmas, Mike looked down at the scrawny boy on his lap, who was still prattling on about why the Silent Hill games were completely appropriate to give to a nine year-old as a gift. Mike examined the kid through his unneeded glasses, trying to ignore the tickling of his false beard against his neck. The kid was odd, long and lanky looking, like a twisted mime his dusty red hair, striped shirt, and random goggles. Matt, he had said his name was?

"Ho ho ho!" Mike chuckled, for what must have been the 50th time that day. "Well, we'll see if you get your computer games, if you've been a good boy!" The elf helper to the side beckoned the boy off his lap, looking tired and put-upon. Mike suppressed a sigh of relief as the boy reluctantly slid off his knee, being sure to rumble his fake belly as he said his line. "Ho ho ho, Matt! And merry Christmas!"

"They're _not_ computer games," Matt muttered, skulking off. "They're _video art experiences_. And I _have_ been a good boy. I haven't killed anyone..."

Mike pinched his nose tightly as the elf helper called for the next kid. Being paid $6 an hour to play Father Christmas for these weird little orphanage kids was not _nearly_ enough.

Pasting on a smile, Mike turned to look down at the next kid, a small, white-haired child wearing oversized white pajamas and socks. He was twirling his hair, looking up at him with wide eyes. Mike blinked. There were all sorts of weird ones here.

He picked him up and set him on his lap, watching as the odd boy stiffened. Mike raised an eyebrow. Apparently, this kid wasn't used to being touched.

"Ho ho ho!" Mike chuckled merrily. "And what is your name, little boy?"

The boy looked up at him, still twirling his hair.

"Shouldn't you know my name already?" he asked tonelessly. "If you don't know what our names are, how will you know and remember what each of us want as a gift?"

Mike sweatdropped.

"Ahh- Santa's list only has names and addresses, not photos," he said quickly, wracking his mind. "So if you don't tell Santa your name, I won't be able to give you what you want."

The boy blinked. "That's completely illogical," he said. "If you don't know our identities, what's to stop us from lying about our names, giving you the name of a child who we know to be good, and messing your system up?"

"Erm- because Santa always knows when you're lying or not, using the same technology he uses to tell who's naughty or nice." Mike was pleased to see the child's eyes widen in unquestioning belief. He didn't know what he'd have done if he'd called his bluff. "Thinking" hadn't been a requirement on the application for this cruddy job. "so, little boy, let's try this again. Just what is your name?"

The boy looked up at him, his eyes wide.

"Near," he said quietly. "I'm Near."

Mike sighed to himself in relief. "Ho ho ho! And have you been a good little boy this year, Near?"

Near met his eyes emotionlessly. "Aren't you supposed to have that on your list?" he said.

"Um- it _is_ on Santa's list," Mike said quickly. "But I didn't bring it with me today. So I just need you to tell me to remind me, and I'll check and see if you're lying when I get back to the North pole."

Near looked up at him blankly, saying nothing. Mike bit his lip.

"Ho ho ho! So, Near, what do you want Santa to bring you for Christmas?"

Near looked up at him for a moment.

"How did you get here from the North Pole?"

Mike blinked. "What?"

"How did you get here from the North Pole?" Near repeated. "Someone would have taken a picture of you if you used your sleigh during the day and it'd have been all over the Internet and tabloids by now. So how did you get here?"

Mike laughed uneasily. "Don't you worry about how Santa came here to see you, Near. Just tell Santa what you want."

"_Did_ you come in your sleigh? Do you have an invisibility shield on it?" Near was watching him, his eyes wide. "Can you teleport? How fast can your sleigh go?"

Mike blinked. "Err- as fast as a normal sleigh goes?"

"But then how can you visit every child's house in only one night?" Near asked. "Do your elves help you in other sleighs? Do you whip your reindeer to speed them up? Can you stop time?"

"Stop _time?_" Mike faltered. "I- Santa- how-"

"Do you have an evil brother?" Near asked suddenly. "Do you have an evil twin?"

"An evil _twin?_" Mike said incredulously. "Why would you think _that?_"

"The French seem to think you do," Near said reasonably. "The have both you, who they call _Père Noël,_ and your evil brother, _Père Fouettard_. They say you give gifts to the good children while your brother whips the bad."

Mike knew nothing about the French. "Do they really?" he asked.

Near nodded. "Is that even ethical? Could he be tried for assault and battery? Did you two get along when you were kids? Does he live at the South Pole? Does he hack your naughty and nice list to know who to whip?"

"Well-" Mike started, unsure. "I- Santa only concerns himself with giving gifts to the nice little children-"

"Why do you give gifts to the nice children?" Near inquired, looking up at him with his wide, unblinking eyes. Mike relaxed. This was one he knew the answer to.

"Why, to reward the good little girls and boys, of course! Ho ho-"

"Isn't doing good supposed to be its own reward?" Near interrupted, idly twirling his hair. "Aren't you bribing children with presents to get them to behave? Aren't you just further ruining the world and contributing to the already decaying morals of society? You're breaking into people's houses, too. That's not setting a good example for children."

Mike stared back at Near blankly. In the space of five minutes, Santa had gone from a jolly old elf to a disgusting, disgruntled criminal who liked breaking into little kids houses and souring society. "Err- I don't-"

"How old are you?"

Mike blinked down at the kid on his knee. "What?"

"How old are you?" Near repeated patiently. "You're not a woman, so I'm assuming you're not overly sensitive and preoccupied with your age..."

"Oh," Mike said. "Santa- Santa is very old. Very old indeed..."

"Were you around for the first Christmas?" Near asked, his eyes betraying none of his thoughts. Mike smiled.

"Of course, Near," he said. "That's why I'm called 'Father Christmas', after all..."

"What did you get baby Jesus for the first Christmas?" Near asked suddenly, looking up at him.

Mike stared at him. "What did I get him?"

"Yes," Near said. "You said you were around for it. Did you get him myrrh? Myrrh's a rather depressing gift for someone's birthday... did Jesus get birthday gifts? Or only Christmas gifts? Or both? Or-"

"Well, I imagine his gifts would count for both..." Mike theorized.

"No, actually, you're wrong," Near said tonelessly. "Jesus was actually born in March, while Christmas was moved to December 25th by the Vatican to make it easier for pagans to convert. And it wasn't established until long after his death, anyway."

Mike sweatdropped. "Near?" he ventured. "How old are you?"

"I'm eight," Near said simply. "Were you eight once? Or did you just sort of appear and not be born? Did you see Jesus being born? Or did you-"

"Near," Mike interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, his tone pleading. "As fascinating as this conversation is, I still have lots of other kids to talk to today, and I can't really spend anymore time with you. So how about helping Santa out a little and just telling me what you want for Christmas?"

"Oh," Near blinked. "Okay." He turned on his lap to look the other way, and Mike turned to look as well. "Do you see that kid in the front of the line?" Near asked. "The one dressed in black with the blonde hair, the one picking on the kid behind him?"

Mike blinked. "Yeah..." he said.

"That's Mello," Near told him. "I want Mello to get whatever he wants for Christmas."

"Wait..." Mike said, puzzled. "All you want for Christmas is for Mello to get his Christmas wish?"

Near nodded. "Yes," he said. "Mello might not always be very good, so it's highly likely he'll be on the 'naughty' list. This way, Mello will still get what he wants, and he'll be happy, then, even if it's through subverting your system."

Mike looked down at the little boy, touched. "That's very selfless, Near," he said. "You and Mello must be very close."

"Not really," Near said, looking down. "He hates me. Merry Christmas."

Without another word, Near slipped off of his knee smoothly, going over to the other side to wait with the red-haired video-game kid and the others silently, twirling his hair. Mike watched him for a moment, before being dragged back to reality by the grumpy elf helper calling "next".

Turning, Mike only had time to see a brief flash of black and yellow as a child suddenly catapulted himself onto his knee, landing hard on his lap, causing Mike to exert a brief "oof" at the impact and pain.

"You're Santa, right?" the child demanded, his eyes hard. "I'm Mello. And you'll keep whatever it is we want for Christmas a secret, right? And you'll never tell anyone?"

Mike relaxed a bit, glad to see that this child seemed more prone to asking the normal, typical questions that children of this age were prone to ask. "Of course, Mello," he said soothingly. "Santa won't tell anyone. Now, just what is it that you want?"

Mello's eyes flared, and he leaned forward conspiratorially before speaking, his eyes glinting.

"You see that little boy in white over there?" Mello asked, pointing. "The one that was just on your lap?"

"Near?" Mike asked.

"Yeah, Near," Mello said, nodding. "Stupid kid. Well, he's what I want for Christmas."

Mike faltered. "You want... _Near?_"

"Yes!" Mello's tone was determined, and his eyes flashed. "I don't care how or why or in what context you get him. I just want Near to be mine."

Mike tried not to gape or groan as Mello began detailing the diamond-studded collar and leash he would make Near wear once he was his, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly as the Mello boy prattled on, promising himself a stiff whiskey after this all was done.

There was no _way_ he was possibly being paid enough for this job.

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Yay for Christmas-y page breaks! Did you like the story? What did you think? Please, review and let me know! As a Christmas gift? I love and cherish every one!


	2. Christmas Cookies

A/N: My computer was being stupid yesterday, so please forgive this one for being late. You'll still get all seven stories, I promise.

This story is for **lizren.**

**Christmas Cookies**

"What the _hell _is all this? Who knew you needed so much stupid stuff just to make a couple damn cookies?!"

Mello sat perched on a stool in the kitchen at Wammy's House, white apron clad around his waist, bold against his black clothes as he paged through a cookbook, a scowl firmly set in place. Near glanced back at him from his place in the fridge, sighing to himself slightly as he dug out the things they needed.

"Be quiet, Mello," he admonished, his arms full of various ingredients as he made his way to the counter. Depositing his load, he looked over Mello's shoulder, trying to read. "What's next?"

"You got the butter and eggs and chocolate chips?" Mello asked, his eyes flicking over the text. Near nodded.

"And the flour, salt, sugar, and vanilla," Near added, toneless as Mello glanced over, double-checking

"Good. I think with the amount of stuff we have, we can at least make a few batches. That should be good, knowing L's sweet tooth." Mello went to the oven, spinning the dial, watching as the flames leaped up inside.

"Do you really think this is such a good idea, Mello?" Near asked, watching the other motionlessly. "Neither of us has ever baked anything before..."

"Shut up, Near. Of course it's a good idea." Mello moved back to the counter, handing Near a large mixing bowl, keeping another for himself. "L loves sweets, right? And what better sweets to make for him than Christmas cookies this time of year?"

"We could-"

"NO, Near, you're wrong. There _are_ no better sweets we could make for him. Period. End of story. Now, hand me two eggs."

"Mello, I-"

"What're you guys doing?"

Mello and Near both whirled around, startled, to see Matt leaning in the doorway, a lollipop in his mouth an intrigued expression on his face. He blinked, expectant, clearly waiting for an answer. Mello's eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

"What's it _look_ like we're doing?" he retorted, just as Near answered simply, "We're making cookies for L." Mello turned, shooting the smaller boy a glare.

"You're making cookies?" Matt moved closer, intrigued. "I didn't know either of you two knew how to bake..."

"We don't," Mello said matter-of-factly. "But you told me before that you had, and that it wasn't hard, so Near and I won't have any problem and are bound to make it work."

Matt blinked. "Well, yeah, but if you've never done it before-"

"No buts, Matt! Shut up! We're fine! Near, what's the recipe say we need first?" Mello's tone was demanding, from a self-assumed authority, and he'd plucked a wooden spoon from the band of his apron, waving it around like a baton.

"You're wearing an _apron?_" Matt said incredulously, raising an eyebrow. Mello ignored him.

"Crack two eggs. Separate the whites and put them into your mixing bowl, disposing of the rest," Near read aloud. Matt moved over to read over Near's shoulder, curious.

"Sounds easy enough," Mello said, expertly cracking an egg, dividing the yolk from the rest. "What's next?"

"Add your oil and water," Matt read. "Mix thoroughly, beating if nec- Near!"

Mello turned quickly to see Near start to dump a cup of oil into his bowl. "No, you fool!" Moving quickly, Mello managed to grab a hold of Near's wrist, suspending it over the bowl. Near turned to look up at him, his eyes emotionless.

"Why not?" he asked tonelessly. "That's what the book said to do."

Mello scowled, still holding onto Near. "Those aren't the egg whites, you goon."

Near blinked and looked down at the cracked eggshells in his bowl, sitting there alone. He looked at them for a long moment, blinking, before looking back up at Mello again.

"Those were the only white parts of the egg," Near informed him. "Everything else was either yellow or opaque."

Mello looked at him incredulously. "Have you _never_ worked with eggs before?!" he demanded. "The white's the clear runny part, you fool!"

Near just blinked at him. "How was I supposed to know?"

Matt sniggered. Mello shot him a glare.

"Just- get another two eggs, Near" Mello said, annoyed. "Put the runny parts in this time, though."

Near's lips twitched. "I can't."

"What?" Mello looked at him oddly. "Why not?!"

"You need to let go first, Mello."

Rather belatedly, Mello realized he was still holding onto Near's wrist, poised above the bowl. Flushing, he dropped it, scowling and muttering to himself. "Matt, what's next?"

"What, now I'm drafted into helping you?" Matt asked, digging through the fridge for something. "I thought I was supposed to shut up."

"Ugh, whatever Matt." Mello went over to the cookbook again, searching for their place. "Add the dry ingredients and mix until a firm dough is formed." He glanced at the stuff on the counter. "So the flour and sugar and stuff are the dry ones?"

"_No_, Mello," Matt said, smirking as he cut something on a cutting board across the room. "_Clearly_, flour is a wet ingredient. Can't you just _see _the water in it?"

Near blinked. "Really?"

"_No._ Shut _up_, Matt. No one asked for your sarcasm. Don't listen to him, Near." Setting about getting his own ingredients ready, Mello paused to puzzle over which jar was the salt and which was the sugar.

"How much flour, Mello?"

"Two cups, Near," Mello said, examining the jars. How was he supposed to tell the difference?

"A big cup or a little cup?"

"What? Just a normal cup, Near," Mello said distractedly, opening the jars. Why didn't the kitchen staff pout labels on these stupid things?

"Near, I-"

"Matt," Mello interrupted him, turning. "Which one of these is the sugar?"

Matt shrugged. "Buggered if I know," he said. "They both look the same to me."

Mello rolled his eyes, exasperated. "Some elite baker-person you are," he said, picking one at random and dumping the required amount in. "Can't even tell the difference between salt and sugar..."

Matt's lips twitched. "Then again, neither can you," he said casually, amused. "But at least I would've thought to taste one of them first to find out..."

Mello blinked, looking down at the heap of the ingredients in his bowl. "Oh."

"This one's the sugar, right?" Near asked, sticking his finger into one of the jars. "Yeah. You can tell. The crystals of sugar are larger than those of salt."

Mello had forgotten which one he'd thought was the sugar. "Really?" he asked.

"Yeah. Here, try."

"Wha-"

Mello's voice was abruptly cut off as he suddenly found Near's finger in his mouth, coated in sweet. His eyes widened as Near looked at him, clearly expectant. He blinked, flushing, before slowly licking the sugar off of Near's finger, unsure why Near had done such a thing. Near smiled.

"See? Sugar." Near pulled his finger from Mello's mouth, examining it. "You missed some," he remarked, popping the wet finger into his own mouth and sucking on it, holding Mello's darkening gaze.

"Ah- whatever," Mello said, tearing his eyes away. "Use that one, then. When you're done, be sure to mix in the chocolate chips."

"All right."

Matt was grinning, Mello noticed, putting something of his own into an over across the room. "What?" Mello asked, watching his expression. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing." Matt shut the oven, amused. "You just seemed to rather enjoy that sugar, Mello," he teased, his eyes dancing. "Do you want to suck on _my_ finger, too?"

Mello reddened, his face flushing. "Shut up, Matt," he said shortly. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Whatever you say, Mello," Matt said, still wearing his ambiguous little smile. Annoyed, Mello turned away, stirring his mixture viciously with his spoon.

"Mello? Mine's not mixing right..."

Mello turned to look at Near, who was looking back at him with wide eyes, his hands in his bowl, a group of several cups and glasses beside him.

"Near! Don't mix with your hands!" He quickly handed him a spoon, but Near only looked at him, blinking.

"Why not? I washed them..."

"Ugh, whatever Near." Mello's gaze traveled over to the heap of stuff sitting in Near's bowl, clearly way too much of everything for just a single batch of cookies. "Umm, Near? Just how much of everything did you use?"

"Two cups of flour, a cup of sugar, and a quarter cup of salt," Near said promptly, reciting from memory as his hands mixed the dry dough. "The sugar cup was bigger than the flour cup, though, so there was more of that..."

"Wait, what?" Mello blinked. "...bigger?"

Near nodded, gesturing to the assortment of drinking glasses to the side. "The blue one's the one I used for sugar. I used the red one for flour, as I didn't want to mess up the measurements if anything was still stuck to the inside of the cup..."

"Near! You already messed it up! A cup of something is a set value! They don't literally mean a cup!" Mello grabbed the measuring cup from beside his bowl and shoved it at Near. "See?!"

Near blinked. "That's a very small cup," he said.

"It's- you- I- oh, forget it!" Mello raged, turning back to his own batter, attacking it with a vengeance. "Just add some more water or oil or eggs or something to give you enough liquid to make the dough with."

"Oh," Near said. The smaller boy went to the fridge, and Mello rolled his eyes, turning back to his own, folding his chocolate chips into the mix. He relaxed slightly as he heard Near cracking more eggs and pouring in more water and such. Perhaps this situation could still be salvaged somewhat...

"Mello? It's too sticky now..."

Turning once more, Mello took in the sight of Near's hands buried in a slushy mush, a layer of water and egg slime floating on the top of what looked like soaked white sand as Near looked at him, blinking blankly. As Matt started to laugh from behind him, Mello could swear he saw red, as he began to shake with barely-suppressed rage.

By the time the cookies were finally in the oven and cooking, Mello had fixed Near's dough to be relatively the right consistency, cleaned everything up, including Near's hands, hit his head off of the fridge ceiling twice, and nearly screamed aloud. Finally, though, the scent of something sweet-smelling baking filtered into the room, and Mello relaxed, glad that the ordeal was almost done.

"I think they're done," Near said, peering into the over. "They're a golden brown, like it says in the book, and the timer's almost done."

Matt glanced over from arranging something on a plate across the room. "He's probably right, Mello," he commented. "You might want to take them out before they burn."

Sighing, stretching a bit, Mello went to the over to remove the cookies, reminding Near not to touch the over door as it was hot. He set the try down to cool on the stove top, looking at his own slightly-odd looking cookies and Near's misshapen attempts.

"Do we get to try them?" Near asked, peering at the cookies. "I want to try one."

"Of course, Near," Matt said, smiling at him. "How else would you two know if they're any good?"

Mello scowled at him. "I don't need to try _my_ cookies," he informed him. "I _know _they're good. I wasn't the one who put six eggs in mind."

Matt smiled at him, as if sharing an inside joke with himself. "I think you should try them anyway, Mello," he said, amused. "See you around."

Mello watched as Matt left the kitchen, raising an eyebrow. He didn't think his cookies would be any good, did he? Well, he'd show _him._

"Near, let's try them now," Mello told him, grabbing a spatula and lifting one of each kind off of the tray. He handed Near his own, lifting his own to his mouth. "Enjoy."

Watching as Near bit into his cookie, Mello did the same. He blinked, chewing once, before blinking, chewing again, and stopping.

His cookie... did not taste very good. It did not taste very good at all. It reminded him of the time he'd tried eating play dough when he was little, and it was not a very good memory at all.

Dashing to the wastebasket, he spit the salty cookie out, making a face. Near looked at him, blinking, munching on his own sticky cookie.

"Did you use salt instead of sugar?" he asked. "Matt said that you might have..."

"Shut up, Near," Mello said, grimacing. "Let me try one of yours."

Near shrugged, handing him one, and Mello bit into it, nearly gagging as an eggy and oily taste overwhelmed his mouth. Running to the sink, Mello spit it out, and grabbed Near's cookie from his hand that threw it in there as well. Near blinked.

"...Mello? What's wrong?"

"We can't give these to L!" Mello despaired, wringing his head. "These cookies are terrible! L would think we were trying to poison him! He'd hate us! And have Roger throw us out on the street to starve and die! With only these toxic cookies to eat!"

Near blinked. "That wouldn't be very good."

Mello shot him a look. "No kidding," he muttered.

Near shrugged. "So what do we do with them?" he asked, ever unfazed. "We have to do something with them, if we can't give them to L..."

"Throw them out, I guess," Mello said reluctantly. "It seems like such a waste, though... after all the work we put into them..." He picked up his tray and walked to the rubbish bin slowly, like a funeral march. "They're not edible enough to do anything else..."

Mello let his cookies fall off his tray into the the garbage to be followed by Near's, where he looked down at them forlornly for a long moment, before sighing.

"Come on, Near," he said sadly, tossing their trays back into their place. "Let's go. We can try to make something else for L another day..."

Near looked up at Mello with wide eyes, twirling his hair as Mello left the room dejectedly. Mello heard Near's socked feet pattering after him into the dining room, hallway, and then into the Main Room, his eyes firmly fixed depressingly on the floor, only to hear a very familiar voice.

"Mello! Near! Thank you so much!"

Mello looked up to see L beaming at them, munching on something, smiling widely. His eyes widened at the shock of suddenly seeing L so abruptly, and he remained speechless for such a long moment that Near spoke up first.

"Thank us for what?" Near asked, blinking up at the man. L smiled.

"For the cookies, of course!" he said, picking Near up in his arms and swinging him around. Near smiled a bit, almost laughing in the other man's arms. Mello stared.

"But- but- the cookies we made- they were terrible- horrid- crap-"

L blinked. "I think they're rather good." He reached down to the coffee table and took another cookie, a perfectly-shaped treat with the imprint of a Christmas tree on it, and bit into it. Mello gaped.

"But- but we- the cookies- how did you know we-?"

"Matt told me," L smiled, munching, ruffling Mello's hair. "He pointed out the plate of cookies you two had made for me on the coffee table and told me that you two were still in the kitchen, cleaning up. I didn't think you'd mind if I tried them before you came..."

Mello's mind flashed back to seeing Matt fooling around in the kitchen whilst he and Near had been mucking with their own attempts at cookies; Matt taking something from the fridge, hearing cutting it, smelling something in the over before their own had started to back, seeing Pillsbury wrappers in the rubbish bin when he'd thrown his cookies out...

It all made sense...

Instinctively, Mello turned around to look for Matt, his eyes finding him looking at him from down the hall, halfway hidden by the wall in the shadows, a soft smile on his face.

"Merry Christmas," he mouthed to Mello, before vanishing around the corner for good, presumably going to his room. Mello gaped after him for a second, before turning to look back up at L. L smiled down at him.

"I really like the cookies," L told him, eating another one. "But I feel so bad... I didn't make anything for you two at all..."

Mello smiled slightly, to himself. "It's nothing," he said, looking away, watching through the window as the snow started to fall. "After all, Christmas is a time to be selfless, isn't it?"

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This one was a bit longer, I think. Did you like the story? What did you think? Please, review and let me know!


	3. Hacking the Holidays

A/N: _So _tired. Did AP US homework for 8 hours straight, and I'm still not done... ugh. Luckily, I wrote about half of this in Physics class. Junior year is sheer hell.

Story for **pantherrose**.

**Hacking the Holidays**

"Mello... are the darkened lights _really _necessary?"

"Yes! Now shut up!" Despite the darkened room, Matt could practically _feel_ Mello's glare boring into the side of his head, and he rolled his eyes. "Hackers in the movies _never_ have the lights on! They're always dimly illuminated by the glow of a monitor while eerie music plays! _Duh!_"

Matt sighed, drumming his fingers on his desk as his computer booted up. Mello was _always_ coming to him with requests to hack something for him, as if being a kid-hacker was something special, which it wasn't. Shawn Fanning had been six when he'd broken his first encryption key, after all, but then again, Matt seriously doubted Mello even knew who Shawn Fanning was.

"Who's the target we're hacking today?" he asked idly, running a scan from the DOS prompt to kill off any bugs. "Google again? Hershey's? Something new?"

Mello smirked.

"Santa," he said.

"..._what?_"

Mello laughed, and Matt turned to stare at him incredulously, looking at him through the tops of his goggles, astounded. "_Santa?_ We're hacking _Santa?_"

"Yes, Santa," Mello grinned. "We're going to hack his naughty or nice list and see just where we stand."

Matt gaped at Mello for a moment longer, before realizing that he wasn't joking. He sighed, returning to his scans. "If we're not on his naughty list now, we will be when we're done..."

"You're such a pessimist," Mello criticized. "Relax. If we're on the naughty list now, we'll just change it so we're on the nice list instead. Easy as three-point-one-four-one-five-nine."

"The saying's easy as _pie_, Mello, and not everyone's good at geometry," Matt informed him, rolling his eyes as he loaded a firewall. "What makes you think this will work anyway?"

Mello blinked. "Why wouldn't it?"

"Well, it's just, whenever you see Santa, he's always holding a hard copy of his list that he hand-writes." Matt pulled up his password cracked and decryptor, getting ready. "Do you really think that old Santa's connected to the web?"

Mello gave him a look.

"It's _Santa_," Mello said flatly. "He's running the world's biggest, widest-reaching operation in the entire _world._ Of _course _he's online."

"Whatever," Matt shrugged, apathetic, his hands poised over the keyboard. "What's our connection?"

"Santa's-bag-at-BBC-dot-net."

Matt turned to look at Mello incredulously. "An _email?!?_"

Mello blinked. "What?!" he said. "It's a connection!! It'll work!!"

"Christ, Mello," Matt said, rolling his eyes. "I thought you had an IP or a website or a server to hack into. Something _interesting._"

"You can still do it though, right?" Mello looked at him, biting his lip. Matt scoffed.

"Can I do it? Can Near solve a puzzle? Can you eat chocolate? Of _course_ I can do it," Matt said, slightly insulted. "I can ever just use Windows for this."

"Instead of the confusing black text screen?"

"The _DOS prompt_, Mello. I've told you that _how_ many times, now?" Matt loaded Windows, quickly launching notepad. "Where'd you get this email, anyway?"

"It was on the telly," Mello told him. "The news said that due to a snow storm, the post to the North Pole was down, so everyone should submit their Christmas list by email instead."

"Why would the _news_ be tracking and hosting an email account for Santa?" Matt asked, typing. "That's ridiculous. At least the news station will have HTML enabled on their settings, though."

"Whatever," Mello said, watching, squinting at the screen. "How come your little beeping tracer-tracker isn't up? You had it up last time."

Matt sighed. "Last time, we were hacking ebay's servers, a corporation that uses high-quality machinery and tracers set up just to knock hackers down while they try to infiltrate. For this, we're just sending the target a bug directly. There's not even a need to bounce the signal or anything."

Mello blinked.

"What?!" he said, confused. He glared at Matt. "Whatever. I don't care about the all the stupid jargon. What are you doing? You're not even hacking yet."

"I'm programming the code we need," Matt informed him, typing. "It's a simple variant of Sub 7 that should get us in to their systems rather painlessly."

"Wouldn't their virus detectors find that?" Mello asked. "I mean, even _I_ know not to open foreign programs..."

"I'm working around it," Matt said, smirking to himself as he hit 'send'. "Just watch and see."

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Across town, Mike of the BBC statistics department sighed as the email client dinged again. Really, doing all this dull grunt work for a stupid survey being covertly run through the news by the company that owned Walmart was better that listening to the bizarre little kids tell him how they wanted Santa to bring them human slaves for Christmas, but at least the little weirdos had been _entertaining_.

Clicking open the minimized Outlook Express window, Mike loaded the newest message, reading.

_Hi Santa Claus! I heard on the telly that you got stranded in a snowstorm, so I'm emailing you my Christmas list. I attached it to this message, just so you can print it out and keep it so you're sure to get the right things that I want! Thanks, Santa! Merry Christmas!_

Mike went to open the the attachment, before pausing, thinking. There were two, one an .exe, one a .doc. Knowing better than to open a foreign program file, Mike clicked on the document to display the child's Christmas list.

A line of jumbled text and symbols appeared, followed by the line _Text cannot be displayed – please install proper font type._ Mike blinked, glancing back at the attached program to the email, hesitating.

He wasn't supposed to open strange programs in the emails he was logging, he knew that for sure, but then again, if he didn't add this kid's items to the database and they counted that he'd gotten this email, he'd get in trouble for sure...

Mike glanced back at the screen. What harm could it do? It was only a little kid, trying to send his Christmas list to Santa, after all...

Sighing, Mike opened the program, blinking the screen flickered before the program window vanished from sight. Slightly disconcerted, he reopened the document file, and found a child's Christmas list sitting there for him, perfectly legible, just waiting to be read.

Scanning the letter, adding another Wii to the list, he paused over the items "Silent Hill 1, 2, and 3", hesitating. That seemed awfully familiar to him, somehow...

Shrugging it off, merely dismissing it as an odd hallucination for working so hard, Mike continued logging the data, working on at his dull, minimum-wage job.

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"We're in."

"Really?" Mello looked over from picking at his nails to the monitor, grinning. "They opened the bug? For real? _Damn_, Matt, you are _good._"

"I know, I know." Matt clicked around, running searches for any document containing the word 'naughty' or 'nice'. "Mello, are you sure this is right?"

Mello shot him a dirty look. "Of _course_ I'm sure," he said hotly. "That was the email they showed on the screen, so that's the right place. Why?"

"C'mere and look at this for a second." Matt scooched over, letting Mello lean to see. "All the lists here are dates, people, events, and places. I can't find anything that looks like a naughty or nice list..."

Mello blinked, taking in the spreadsheet. Matt looked at him as the other boy appeared lost in thought for a long moment, before finally moving back.

"It's in code," he said finally. "It has to be. Or maybe it's a compilation of every bad thing someone's ever done. Search for a name, Matt. A common one, like 'Miller'."

"Mello," Matt said hesitantly. "These look like news events... look: fire on Oakdale, family left homeless, security threat to the nation... why would Santa keep track of all this? And look, here-"

"Matt," Mello interrupted.

Matt turned to look at him. "What?"

"Shut up and do as you're told."

Matt sighed. "Whatever."

Pulling up a search, Matt set it to scan all the files on the other computer's hard drive, shoving the bridge of his goggles into his nose, the sharp bite of pain helping to focus his vision. A quiet 'ding' from his computer dragged him back to reality.

"Hey, Mello. We got something."

Mello looked up from his feet. "Really?"

Matt nodded. "Yeah. It's an executive classified document, but the skimmer found names inside of it. Lots of them. Want me to crack it?"

"Yes!" Mello said quickly, his eyes now glued to the screen. "Hurry! This could be it!"

"I'm going, I'm going," Matt muttered, setting his password cracker on the job. A few minutes later, they were in, and Matt scrolled up the list, seeing reams of names in two columns.

"Promotion and Demotion," Mello murmured, reading aloud. "That must be code for naughty and nice. What list are we on, Matt?"

Matt ran a search. "...we're not on here."

"What?!" Mello shoved Matt aside, scanning through the list quickly. "What the hell?! Why aren't we on here?!"

"We could have the wrong thing..."

"No. Shut up, Matt." Ignoring his friend, Mello leaned over, adding another two rows to the database, adding himself and Matt to the top of the list under 'Promotion', before moving back and letting Matt take control of his computer again. Matt turned to give Mello a look, but another quiet 'ding' made him look back to the screen.

"What's that?" Mello demanded, and Matt pulled up his still-running search window, loading it.

"The computer found one more list with names on it," Matt said. "This one might be it."

"Open it!"

Ever obedient, Matt double-clicked, bringing up a list of names with titles after them. Mello scanned it, his eyes skimming over the lines of text, before a dim glint sparked in his eye.

"This is it, Matt," he breathed. "It is. I can feel it. This is where we need to put our names."

Matt glanced up at Mello. "Are you sure?" he asked. "If you ask me, this just looks like a bunch of-"

"Matt. This is it. Trust me on this." Mello dragged the keyboard from him, scrolling to the top of the list. "I'll add us in, and then you can delete the bug and make sure we didn't leave a trace, right?"

Matt sighed. "Of course, Mello," he said tiredly. "But you owe me big time for this. What a hassle..."

Mello ignored him, typing, before pulling back, satisfied, saving the document, and X'ing out. He turned, smiling a devious, mischievous, twisted little smile at Matt, making him look evil with his face half-illuminated in the dim monitor light.

"Now all we have to do it wait."

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Laying on his back in front of the television in the main room, Near idly zoomed a toy plane around in the air over his head, making quiet engine noises with his mouth as he waited for the news to end. The millionaire show was on next, and someone was going for 64,000.

Hearing the newscasters wish each other a good night, Near tilted his head just in time to see the anchors wave and the credits start to scroll upwards. He turned away, uncaring, before turning sharply back to the screen, doing a double-take.

_Thomas Walker, producer_

_Charles Mason, director_

_Mello, über pwnage_

_Matt, sidekick extrodinaire_

_Kirsten Andes, co-anchor_

Near stared as the names scrolled up until they disappeared from view, blinking. What on earth...?

Pushing the matter from his mind, Near settled down to watch his show, watching the theme song. Everything was always weird around Christmas, anyway.

Especially where Mello and Matt were involved.

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Hacking's fun. What did you think? Like it? Hate it? Please, review and let me know!


	4. Making Music

**A/N: **Okay, okay. So I didn't manage to write them all before Christmas. I got sick and stuff. BUT! it's still winter, so I'll finish writing all 7 stories still. Yay for me.

Story for **Blau.**

**Making Music**

"Do you hear that?"

Near watched as Linda turned from her place at her canvas to look at him curiously.

"Hear what?" she asked, puzzled. "I can hear Anastasia and Iris arguing down the hall, but that's nothing new..."

"No," Near said, looking at her. "Not that. The music. Can you hear it?"

Linda's eyebrows rose, and Near's heart sank.

"Are you feeling okay, Near?" she asked, concerned. "There's no music anywhere... do you have a fever?" She reached out a hand to feel his forehead, but Near shied away.

"I'm fine, thank you," he said tonelessly, watching her hand warily. "It's just... I can hear music. I wondered if anyone else could, too."

Linda started to say something, but Near paid her no attention as he left the room. He paused, silent, his ears straining. One ear twitched slightly, as a faint sound tickled at his mind.

The music was louder out here.

Moving down the hall in the direction the sound seemed to be coming from, Near listened. It was so qui9et, Near thought, a melody that was barely there, so faint and soft. Yet, Near was sure it was there, and wasn't just some distorted ringing of his ears. It was almost as if... he could _feel_ the music, somehow.

Shaking these thoughts out of his head, Near turned and opened the next door in the hall. Three boys inside turned to look at him, staring, and Near's hope fell. The music was quieter in here.

"Near." Near looked up to see one of the boys looking at him curiously. Near recognized him as Iago, one who Mello often got into fights with over trivial matters.

"What's wrong, Near?" the one called Iago asked. "Are you looking for someone?"

"...not exactly," Near said finally, loathe to admit anything to them. He regarded each of them carefully in turn, meeting their eyes, evaluating, looking for something in them. "It's just... do any of you hear anything?"

Iago blinked and looked at the other two.

"Not really..." he said, uneasy. "Not unless you mean the girls arguing, but everyone can hear that..."

"No," Near said, disappointed. "That's not what I meant. But thank you anyway." He turned to leave.

"What do you hear?" one of the others asked, curious. Near paused in the doorways, casting a glance back at them, considering.

"...music," he said finally, quiet. "A piano, I think."

Near waited just long enough to see the expressions of increduloulity form on their faces before departing, leaving them to wonder and discuss where someone could possibly hide a piano in the school.

Near continued down the hall, listening. The music had switched melodies, and this one was louder, though not by much. Ignoring the sock on the outside of the next door, Near opened it, interrupting a couple locked in a tight embrace. Ignoring the dirty looks both of the older children shot him, he spoke.

"Do either of you hear that?"

The boy scowled, but the girl looked intrigued.

"Hear what?" she asked, while the boy muttered something about hearing Near say his prayers. Near ignored him.

"That music, Near told the girl, his eyes meeting hers, something like hope flickering in them. "Can you hear it at all?"

The girl tilted her head and listened, before shaking her head in response. Near felt a trickle of frustration at everyone's apparent obliviousness pulse through him before suppressing it, shoving it down inside. Aggravation wouldn't make finding the mysterious musician any easier, he knew.

"I'm surprised you can hear anything at all," the boy sneered, malicious. "As quiet as you always are, I'd figured all your auditory nerves were shot."

"Just because I don't speak doesn't mean I don't listen," Near said tonelessly, his eyes cold as they fixed on him. "If anything, my silence enhances the sense."

Deeming these two useless for any further information, Near left, reclosing the door behind him. He paused in the hallway once more, listening.

He could hear it. It was certain. Someone was playing the piano, and Near could hear it, without a doubt. Ignoring the part of his mind that whispered to him that it was irrational of him to search for the player of the song so, Near opened the last door in the hall, abruptly cutting off the argument between the two bickering girls.

"What, Near?" Iris said curtly. Near's eyes widened imperceptibly in the quiet. Without their fighting, the tune was louder now.

"Can either of you hear that?" he asked, his tone nearly pleading. "Can you? Do you?"

Near watched as Anastasia paused to listen, a tremor of excitement spreading through him as she slowly nodded her head.

"That music, right?" she asked, listening hard. "It sounds like a piano..."

Iris turned to blink at her companion, her ire temporarily forgotten. "A piano?" she wondered. "I heard Roger telling that maid Kiki about some grand piano in the formal parlor needing dusting, once. But no one's every played it before..."

Near's eyes sparked.

"Thank you," he told them quickly before leaving, continuing down the hall, moving with a purpose now.

Near listened as he walked through the corridors, his pace almost urgent. That music... the chords echoed through him, resonating, and it was almost as if he could feel it, like he could feel the tune trying to talk to him.

Taking a turn down a mostly-unused hallway, one that led to the stiff, formal rooms that the adults commonly used, Near's excitement grew as the music grew louder. It was close by, he knew, as he moved quicker yet. It was here, somewhere. It had to be.

His eyes catching on a barely-cracked door, Near paused. His heart stopped for a moment, skipping a beat, before he tentatively pushed open the door, timid.

The room was plush and decadent, Near noticed, observing the velvet chairs and thick rugs. This was most likely the room where Roger would greet the occasional long-lost relative of a student come to check-up on them or talk to the investors about the orphanage's success. The meaningless details of the room registered dully in the back of his mind as Near turned, his eyes and heart stopping at the figure he saw seated at the grand piano at the left of the room.

It was Matt.

But it wasn't a Matt he knew.

As opposed to being generally apathetic and uncaring, dismissive of the world, this Matt was seated in from of the piano with his back straight, his posture perfect and proper as his hands danced over the keys. His eyes were closed, and there was a soft smile playing about his lips, and Near wondered how Matt could play like that, without looking, as if the music was an extension of himself.

A strange, almost foreign feeling swelled in Near's throat as he stood there silently in the doorway, just listening, motionless as the notes spoke to him wordlessly.

The song finished slowly, with a few soft chords, and while Matt's fingers finally paused on the ivory keys, the last notes resonating, touching, echoing in the room, and Matt's expression was that of one at peace, content.

Near clapped quietly, moving into the room, shutting the door behind him, and Matt jerked at the sound, his eyes darting to Near, flashing, uncertain.

"Ah... Near..." Matt scratched his head sheepishly, looking at the younger boy. "Heh... I was just messing around... I guess you heard me..."

"That wasn't messing around," Near said quietly, moving closer to stand at the piano's side. "That was amazing. I've never heard anything like that before."

Matt blinked, flushing faintly.

"Thanks," he said. He looked at Near, slightly embarrassed. "I don't usually play the piano, you know. Rarely, really, just on occasion..."

"You're brilliant at it," Near told him, his eyes showing a faint flicker of something as he looked at Matt. "It was like you were playing from part of you, like the song came from inside... what _was_ that song?" he asked.

A ghost of a smile touched Matt's lips as he relaxed, reassured.

"It's called _'Angel Eyes'_," he told him, "by Jim Brickman. I twas one of the first pieces I ever learned to play."

Near looked at Matt, on hand absently stroking the top of the piano, almost reverently.

"I- I could _feel_ it," Near admitted, looking down. "It- it was like some sort of wordless language, but I could understand..."

"Ah- music'll do that to you..." Matt looked back to the keys, smiling softly, as if revisiting old friends. "Music's supposed to be played from the heart, y'know, straight from your emotions..."

"It was beautiful," Near told him honestly. "Play another. Will you, Matt?"

Matt looked up at Near, slightly startled by the sudden request. He looked at him for a minutes, as if searching for something, before slowly, ever so slowly, letting his hands drift back to the keyboard, softly starting to play.

Near closed his eyes, listening. Soft notes tinkled from the instrument, gentle, relaxing, soothing, and Near could almost hear the intent behind it, making him think of how an affectionate mother would be to her child.

Almost without realizing it, Near opened his mouth, starting to sing along.

Matt looked up at him, startled, before slowly relaxing, a soft smile resting on his lips as he continued to play. Near's eyes stayed holding his as his voice joined the music, weaving and winding through the notes, forming a beautiful, soft, unintentional melody.

There weren't any words. Those would clutter the sound. There wasn't any though behind it. That would stifle the feel. There was only music. Completely independently of himself, Near sand along, the feeling from within him flowing out through his throat as Matt's fingers danced across the keys.

All too soon, the song came to an end, and Matt looked up to Near, smiling, who offered him his own shy smile in return.

Outside, through the frosted window panes, the world watched as the piano started again, a soft, melodic voice joining and dancing with it, creating a wordless tune, the music faint through the glass. Snow continued to fall as they did, soft, gently piling up around the house unobtrusively, surrounding them, almost as if further immersing the two into a world all of their own.

¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°°º¤ø,¸

I love how music can make you feel. So, what did you think? Like it? Hate it? Please, review and let me know!


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